Harry Potter and the Goblet's Consequence
by 19James92
Summary: Every choice has a consequence. Some consequences are bigger than others; worse than being expelled from Hogwarts. One choice Harry makes changes the fabric of the world. Prophecies rendered asunder, lives altered, communities shattered.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Well this is a bit different. A Harry Potter fan-fic. This idea has been mulling around in my mind for a while, in various forms. The Goblet of Fire was my favourite Harry Potter book, and is the turning point of the series in many ways. Anywho, from a number of trial ideas, this first chapter came through. Harry may seem a bit out of character; to that, I shrug. For things to happen differently, something has to be different, and I choose Harry to be the main thing. Having said that, if I get ridiculous, please pull me up.

So far, my 'plan', is for this to be a H/Hr fic, but that's fairly fluid and won't be quick to come about. Neither will I be bashing Weasleys or Dumbledores.

I won't be quick to update, but we'll see how we go. Reviews are appreciated, as always.

**And most of all, enjoy.**

* * *

"Harry Potter."

Two words. Two words that had inspired fear, jeers, and now a curious glance as to who could be uttering the unique combination which made the words his. And yet, once again, Harry Potter wished the name was not his own.

Every head in the Great Hall had turned to him. It must have been a mistake, a figment of his over excited imagination. The Triwizard tournament, that's what it was called. Even Malfoy didn't have the gall to suggest his father could get him a place as a FOURTH champion in a three champion contest.

Regaining his sense, Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, acutely aware of the gaping mouths of the Gryffindors behind them. "I didn't put my name in," he stated with a confused shrug. "You've been with me. You know I didn't."

His two best friends just looked at him, a rare occasion of words escaping Hermione's brilliant mind.

"I didn't do it! There must be a mistake!" Harry stated more loudly, even as Dumbledore conferred with Professor McGonagall.

"Harry Potter!" The headmaster called again. "Up here Harry, if you could."

"Professor, I didn't do it!" Harry called back, a tinge of anger gripping his voice. After three years of school, surely they could trust him by now. One does not simply receive a Services to the School award for being a prat. And Dumbledore had seen the diary, orchestrated the rescue of his Godfather. Why couldn't he have a year without drama, or at least be remembered for doing that which no one else could, or would.

"Go on Harry. Everybody is waiting," Hermione whispered behind him, pushing him to his feet.

Shooting a quick glare to the bushy-haired female, Harry stumbled slightly, the dregs of his robes entangling his feet. Whereas such a move would garner laughter and perhaps even comedic applause during the dinner feast; not even a whisper of a smile caught on the lips of the hall.

"Tough crowd" Harry muttered to himself as he began the walk to the head table, each step seemingly stretching the distance to his destination, not shortening it.

As he stepped up to the dais, the stares followed him, tracking him as a hawk tracks its prey. The echoing of his footsteps on the stone were his only applause for greeting the headmaster. A little defensively, Harry once more stared up at the revered headmaster, a slight plea entering his voice.

"Professor, when have I lied to you before? I did not put my name in that cup. I swear to you. Of all the people in this room, do any need more publicity than I, and still want it less?"

Dumbledore didn't respond, his eyes cold, face expressionless, as if he had just endured one of Aunt Petunia's rare attempts at cooking. The most powerful wizard of the era gave such a bland, uncommitted look that something broke inside Harry. He did not trust Harry. Despite everything that had occurred in three of the most tumultuous years of schooling, Harry Potter was an attention seeking brat who cheated his way past an uncheatable age-line drawn by the professor himself.

Harry nodded, determined to find his own way through, regardless of where that may lead. "Sir?"

As if reluctantly, Professor Dumbledore indicated to the nondescript door at the side, his hand resolutely stiff. There would be no handshakes or congratulations here.

"Well... Through the door Harry," said Dumbledore, still without a smile or hint of glitter in his eyes.

Harry turned on his heel, eyes seeking out those who had followed him to hell and back as he turned. One glimpse of Ron's simmering expression was all he needed to know where their friendship stood. Harry had cheated his way in, and not offered Ron the same opportunity. Therefore Harry was not his friend, and should be treated as such. Hermione's expression of confusion was a harder read. Puzzles were to be solved quickly, and if they couldn't, they would frustrate the book lover. Only problem was, Harry had none of the answers. Hermione would toil away at why or how he was entered, but in the end, it was illogical, and therefore disposable.

Saddened, Harry continued his pivot, almost laughing at the hate Cho Chang displayed so openly. In the end, Harry did laugh at Malfoy's face. The pale heir to the Malfoy kingdom had turned whiter than usual, statuesque in his stiff demeanour. "It's ok Malfoy, I didn't even do anything this time and I still trump you." Harry couldn't resist the jibe, despite the buzz he was causing. He was being childish, but then again, surely he could afford to be.

"Mr. Potter." Professor McGonnagall coughed slightly, looking pointedly at the waiting door.

"Sorry professor." Harry replied with a hint of guilt, as he stepped through the door, leaving a silent uproar in his wake.


	2. Divergence

**A/N: **This is where my story begins to take its own shape, as opposed to that written by JK Rowling.

There are snippets from the novel, however it is certainly not rote, and the differences are somewhat important. Especially towards the end of the chapter.

On that note, the chapter is rather short, under 1500 words. This won't be an ongoing trend, I am merely setting the scene for the story to 'begin'.

Anyways, enjoy.

* * *

He was used to his presence causing mutterings, exclamations and shock, but as Harry entered the smaller room, the murmurs of the portraits spread like ripples, tweaking his ire at the petty gossip. Witches flittered between frames, the words "cheated" and "fourth champion" floating back to the boy who lived.

As he quietly made his way to the crackling fireplace, Harry ignored the portraits; they could have been murmuring about the Heir of Slytherin. It was all the same. Harry would get a say only after everyone else had made their judgment. An idea began to form in the back of his mind, a chance for control over his future. Importantly, a future where he wouldn't be competing against the impressive trio silhouetted against the flames.

The french champion, Fleur Delacour, looked around at the whispering of the portraits, noticing Harry's approach. He idly noted the patterns of light reflected in her silvery hair, which moved with a life of its own. "What is it?" she asked with the hint of a sneer as she looked down to him. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"

Blinking, Harry paused before responding. Someone had finally asked what had happened, albeit in a roundabout manner. "There's been some sort of mistake. I don't know what's going on, but someone's tricked the Goblet into accepting a fourth champion." Sighing at their blank stares, he finished, "me. But I don't want in. I don't need the money, and I don't want the fame."

Krum looked thunderous at the idea, Cedric pensive, and Fleur curious. She stepped toward him, tilting her head in confusion. "How iz it, that a boy, could trick ze Goblet of Fire, a powerful magical instrument?"

"Ms. Delacour, I have just told you that I don't know what's going on." Pointing to the Goblet, Harry's eyes hardened in frustration. "I have not been close enough to that Goblet to put my name in, neither did I ask an older student to put my name in for me."

Fleur's dark eyes widened slightly at his rebuke while Cedric chuckled ruefully, "Harry I don't know what you do to deserve such luck. Your perpetual place at the centre of some unexplained event in this school is ridiculous."

Nodding his thanks to Cedric, Harry laughed bitterly, while ignoring the rushed footsteps entering the room. "Extraordinary!" Ludo Bagman muttered as he grabbed Harry and swung him round. In a flash, Harry had slipped his arm from the ministry official, who's eyes were alight with excitement.

"May I introduce - incredible though it may seem - the _fourth_ Triwizard champion?"

"No." Harry said firmly, stepping away from Bagman. "I won't compete. There must have been a mistake."

Bagman looked at Harry incredulously, skepticism written across his face. "Mistake?" he finally declared, "No, no, no my boy, not at all. Your name just came out of the Goblet of Fire! You are a triwizard champion."

At this, Cedric shook his head in annoyance, turning back to the fire. Krum frowned, while Fleur stepped up to Mr. Bagman, her anger outweighing any aura exuding from her. "Evidently zair 'as been a meestake. 'Arry 'as no need for this. You are familiar with ze one ze British call Voldemort, non?" Bagman flinched, whether at her contemptuous gaze, or her naming of the Dark Lord. "E will not compete, and does not want to. E is just a boy!"

"Well... it is amazing," Bagman said, his ludicrous grin creeping back, "FOUR Triwizard champions. The odds are... unheard of." He smiled at Harry, causing the fourth year to narrow his eyes. This man had done little to inspire any confidence in the boy who lived. "As you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year, an extra safety measure. Your name came out of the Goblet... you're obliged Harry... It's such a huge honour... You will just have to -"

Before the Quidditch champion could finish, and before Harry could hex the man for his stubbornness, the door slammed open once more, a large group rushing in. Professor Dumbledore led the charge, followed by Mr Crouch, Madame Maxime and Professors McGonagall, Snape and Karkaroff. A swish of Snape's hand shut the door behind Karkaroff, cutting off the dull roar of the Great Hall. A part of Harry's mind noted Bagman scurrying to the side at the entrance of the remaining adults.

Fleur stepped forward at once, a glint of concern in her eye. "Madame Maxime, zey are saying zat ze boy Harry Potter is to compete also.' Harry bristled at her ongoing dismissal of him as a mere boy, but he was glad for her intervention, whatever the motive. FOr whoever got him out of the tournament, he would be eternally grateful, as opposed to eternally glorious. Shuddering at the thought, Harry turned his concentration to the confrontation between the considerably large Madame Maxime, an angry Karkaroff, and the most powerful wizard in the world.

"Otherwise," Karkaroff was saying, "we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

"It's no ones fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," Snape said quietly, his greasy hair glinting not unlike Fleur's in the fire. Harry snickered at the comparison, drawing another glare from Professor McGonagall. Before the potion's master could further sully Harry's name, the Boy Who Lived looked to the Hogwarts headmaster.

"Professor, why is Professor Snape here? As neither my head of house, nor Cedric's, he has no business being involved in this discussion."

Snape bristled, his eyes glinting with malice. "Once again Potter, you fail to -"

"Thank you Severus," said Dumbledore firmly. "Unfortunately Mr. Potter, I may require Professor Snape's presence for the administration of Veritaserum, amongst other reasons. Allow each of us to deal with situation."

"Professor!" Harry exclaimed, but the Wizengamot Chief Warlock had turned back to the senior wizards and witches, his gaze elsewhere. At some point, Professor Moody had slipped in unseen. A remarkable feat with the wooden leg he was encumbered by. Harry sighed, moving to the furthest corner from the adults and Triwizard champions. He needed none of it, wanted none of it. And once again he had been cast aside.

A fire burned inside Harry, indignant at the abuse. The ongoing neglect by those called to care for him. He barely noticed his drawn wand, the tight grip squeezing the Holly with a detached focus. The walls blurred as he spun on his heel, eyes ablaze and aura flaring. He had lost control, for the first time since he could remember. Anger at the wizarding world brought his arm up, pointing his wand at the roof. The many candles flickered as if beset by an unseen wind.

Barely aware of the words spoken, he roared in a voice impossible to ignore,

"I, Harry James Potter, swear on the magic within me, that I will NOT participate in the Triwizard Tournament, as decreed by the Goblet of Fire."

The silence that followed his declaration was as short as it felt long, time stretching as Harry smiled triumphantly at the slack jaw of his Headmaster. His smile was replaced by shock as a great gust blew the small door from its hinges, portraits splintering at the shear force. Golden fire rushed at Harry, striking him in the chest, filling him with a golden glow.

As the glow faded, and the candle lights stabilised, Harry looked at each of the adults and the triwizard champions, his eyes telling the story for him. He was done with the Triwizard Tournament. Gaze settling on Dumbledore, a movement at the fore of Harry's head caused him to clutch his scar, wincing at the sudden, intense pain flashing through his skull.

The last thing he saw was Professors Snape, Moody and Karkaroff clutching their arms. Then darkness took him.

* * *

**A/N: **So you're probably curious as to where this story is going to go. Me too! :) I have a general idea, but the best laid plans are often wrought disposable when push comes to shove. But I'm looking forward to seeing what I can do.


	3. The Infirmary

**A/N: This is still a ffic about H/Hr. Just be patient. Also, of note, this fanfic is before Order of the Phoenix, which would otherwise fill Harry's lack of knowledge in areas. **

* * *

Harry Potter sat up with a jolt, immediately wincing at the spinning room. White lights danced in front of his eyes as colours morphed into the dull blur of his terrible eyesight.

Scrabbling for the glasses that would reveal his surrounds, Harry pondered his situation. Apart from disorientation, he felt as rested as he ever felt. His head felt clearer than before, as if an untapped resource had been released.

Slipping on the ever-familiar plastic glasses, Harry frowned at his surrounds. He couldn't see his wand, which had been in his school robes before his accident. He appeared to be in a hospital ward of sorts. _Perhaps St. Mungo's. _Harry thought idly. The partitioned room gave no indication of magical properties, but then he wouldn't know what to look for bar Madam Pomfrey's adjustments to the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, which this certainly was not. An incoherent mutter to his left cause Harry to turn, smiling gently at Hermione's figure, curled in a ball on the tiny visitor chair. His smile turned to a low chuckle at her hands, which even in her unconscious state, maintained a book-holding grip. Had he Hogwarts: A History, he had little doubt it would slide into her hands perfectly.

"Welcome back to the real world son." A male nurse pulled aside one of the partitions, smiling at Harry. The stethoscope around his neck looked regular enough, but so did many magical objects. Nodding at Harry's sharp gaze, the nurse nodded to Hermione's prone figure. "You gave us all quite the fright Harry Potter. Especially your young friend."

Harry smiled, "She's a good friend. But, where am I sir?"

"You, young Harry, are in what I affectionately call the Infirmary, but it's more commonly know as -"

"-Perhaps I can be of help," billowing puce robes and matching wizards hat announced the entrance of Albus Dumbledore. Disregarding the nurse's look of astonishment, Dumbledore sat at the feet of the bed, a hand patting Harry's foot slowly. "Now young Harry, I'm afraid we must talk about what happened."

Recovering, the nurse stood by Harry, staring down the Chief Warlock. "I'm sorry sir, but only family and close friends are allowed bedside. You are welcome to wait at the Visitor's lounge, but your... attire may come under fire. Perhaps a change of clothes. Halloween was four days ago now. I'm afraid you won't be allowed back unless you can prove relationship with this young man."

The chief warlock nodded sagely, his overly calming grating on Harry. "Naturally." Barely glancing at the man, Dumbledore waved his hand in an intricate pattern.

Starting, the nurse glanced around nervously. "Excuse me Harry, I have an errand to run."

Drawing the curtains, the nurse stepped from the partition. Dumbledore smiled at Harry, responding before the teen could speak. "Naturally."

"Professor!" Harry exclaimed, now cross. He still did not know where he was, why he felt so good, or what had happened. In his periphery, he noted Hermione stirring.

Smiling genially, Dumbledore interrupted again. "Harry. My dear boy. You've caused quite the outcry. It is unprecedented. No champion has ever been chosen and rejected the goblet."

"But I didn't put my name in! I did not enter." Harry barely shouted at the old man.

"Harry!" Bushy hair swarmed his face, as he was engulfed in a crushing hug from his best friend.

"Hey Hermione. Good to see you too." Harry grinned, his attitude calmer at her presence.

A subtle cough separated the two teens. "I believe you Harry. I truly do. A much deeper plot was at hand, which we have successfully avoided. Nevertheless, in retaliation, the cup has claimed the magic within you as recompense."

Harry's eyes widened, and Hermione gasped, her hand gripping his own tightly. In a low voice, heart racing, he replied, "How can you tell sir?"

Drawing his wand, point first, Dumbledore visibly tensed. "A little test, if I may. I am allowing you to borrow my wand Harry, and only borrow it, no more. Your own has been confiscated under the circumstances by the Ministry of Magic."

Two simultaneous voices berated the warlock in shock and outrage.

"That's outrageous!"  
"What?!"

Dumbledore stood up, visibly uneasy. "It may be outrageous Ms. Granger, but is also the law. No criminal or non-magical can have a wand according to the Ministry of Magic. I am sure there is a tome on the matter which you could research. Now; the wand Harry."

With what appeared to be great reluctance, Dumbledore held out the wand for Harry. Frowning internally at its strange appearance, Harry took the wand. Nothing happened. He felt no warmth from the wand, no sparks spat from the end. Giving it a swish and flick, the gravity of the situation becoming greater at the inaction. Unfazed, Harry handed the wand back.

"Professor, I tried almost all of Ollivander's wands before I found mine. If I had my own wand, I'm sure it'd work fine." Hermione nodded next to him, the tale familiar to her.

Dumbledore chuckled sadly, twirling the stick between his fingers. "Unfortunately Harry, this wand should be as compatible to your arm as it is to mine, however I shall not say more. It is a neat trick, is it not?" Harry glanced at the man, who was grinning at the wand weaving its way around each of his spindly fingers. _Perhaps Ron was right in his assessment of the Headmaster. _Harry thought bitterly, barely caring where his friend was.

"What happens to Harry now then?" Hermione asked timidly.

"Now Ms. Granger, it is time for us to leave. The staff here will treat Harry well."

"You're leaving?" Harry asked, surprisingly saddened by their imminent departure.

"As you are no longer a student of Hogwarts, I can provide no further help. The Goblet of Fire, although powerful, is not sentient. It cannot think for itself beyond the binding of Champions and punishing of cheaters."

"But professor?" Hermione frowned. Harry knew the face well; she would be flying through her substantial library of knowledge, trying to remember any scraps that could help her friend.

"That will be all Ms. Granger. I shall leave you a moment to say goodbye." With a nod to the two, Dumbledore left silently.

"Why?" The single phrase from Hermione drew Harry's ire once more.

"Why what Hermione? I didn't do anything but stand up for myself. I don't know. I've never been accepted anywhere, not at home, not at Hogwarts. It just felt like the right thing to do." Hermione visibly shrank at his rant. With a start, Harry realised how hard it would be for her too. He didn't think himself too important in her life, but to lose a friend in unpleasant circumstances... "I'm sorry Hermione, I don't know what to think. It has barely sunk in yet. I can't do magic. Not won't, but can't. Physically. I don't think its there anymore." A single tear escaped his stoic mask, which Hermione wiped away with her thumb, before consuming him once more with a hug.

"It won't be the same without you" she whispered.

"You'll be ok." Harry smiled, thinking about all Hermione had done in three years, and what she could do with all her intellect.

"It's not me I'm worried about." she whispered in response, pulling away to look at Harry, who squirmed under her gaze.

"We'll see each other again." Even to him it sounded weak, and they both knew it. Deep down, their friendship couldn't be the same.

Hermione nodded sadly, stepping back and picking up her small bag, which cluttered more loudly than a little bag should've. Physically put off by the magic, Harry cringed, a tear forming in his heart, its path deep and wide.

"Goodbye hermione."

"Bye, Harry" said Hermione, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek.

* * *

**A/N: I Sooooo wanted to put a Star Wars reference in there, but refrained in the end. **

**Its another bit of 'filler'. Not many great revelations, except Harry has lost his magic, and feels really good. Perhaps thats a shock. Perhaps its not.**

**Also, for those familiar with my other pieces of work, Heart of Darkness, and (less so) Curious; the chapters of this fanfic probably seem a little shorter. This is so the parts stay manageable for me to write. 6000-8000 word chapters are killers.**

**Anyways, please read, review, have a nice day, etc etc etc. Appreciate all of you.**


	4. The Boy Who Lived?

**A/N: Another chapter, woo. Just a quick note on reviews. I love it when you all review, its great. Warm fuzzy feelings etc. I also appreciate the feedback, both positive and constructive. What I don't like is when anonymous reviewers come along and criticise without base or example.**

**Also, there are references to places, organisations and other such stuff in London. If it's wrong, well... sorry. Haven't been to London or England in many years.**

* * *

In fairness to the staff at the Royal London Hospital, Harry Potter was largely comfortable in the spacious and clean ward. He had remained largely undisturbed, except for meals and the occasional check-up. No visitors had come. Hermione had written once, but he had been unable to write back; the nurse shooing away Hedwig once the bird of prey had been discovered indoors. "Health and Safety" the medical had said when Harry had complained. Not wanting to draw any extra attention to himself, Harry let the matter drop, gently waving Hedwig away from the window she was pecking at while the nurse moved onto the next 'inmate'.

Harry had been grateful to receive the Daily Telegraph each morning with the small plate of food provided for breakfast. The muggle news had been largely uneventful. Something about a tunnel connecting France and England, and a car race in Australia. No escaped mass-murderers, no rumours of Basilisks and Parselmouths; the change of pace was profound, and refreshing to Harry. He had soaked up each article, enjoying the different tones and topics to those the Prophet spat out each day. While reading about the Channel Tunnel, Harry had a disturbing realisation. None of his magical friends, especially the purebloods, would have any idea of the engineering feat that had been completed. Having been raised by Muggles, Harry could understand how the magical world went undetected and unobserved. Between the notice-me-not charms, unobtrusive transport methods, and obliviation, the magical world was successful in maintaining the statute of secrecy. How they dismissed the muggle population so easily was impossibly naive. Magic provided an incredible array of abilities and possibilities barely conceived by the non-magical world, but that shouldn't discount technology and the wonders of the world.

Harry's minder had been reluctant to release Harry without an adult. "Mr. Potter, I cannot allow you to leave without a parent or guardian signing you out."

"But I told you -"

"-You told me your guardians didn't care about you. What you don't seem to understand is that I will lose my job if I let you go without explanation. Unless there has been abuse, we will need your parent's signature, or else I will be disgraced and won't be able to work anywhere!" Harry frowned, saddened at his effective imprisonment. How could he explain his Aunt and Uncle's attitude to him. Not that he wished to return to the Dursley's, but given his only other guardian was a known and wanted criminal. Considering the Marauder, Harry smiled.

If his Godfather had been able to escape England's highest security prison, surely Harry could escape a hospital ward.

* * *

The plan to get out of the hospital went flawlessly. He had asked one of the matrons for his clothes. Along with a shy grin, he had convinced her of his need for his own possessions instead of the hospital gown.

Once he had his clothes back, the trick was to pick the right moment to sneak out. The halls were monitored at night, as one of the cleaners had complained loudly one evening at the scrutiny he received while mopping the floors. In the end, Harry slipped from his bed during a rush of in-patients. There had been an explosion in the North, the source of destruction unknown. However, the hospital was flooded with burn victims, overwhelming the busy staff. And so it was that Harry James Potter walked confidently through the front entrance of the Royal London Hospital, and out onto the street, exhaling a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. No-one had looked at him twice while he pretended to know his way around. Only when he paused occasionally to gather his bearings had anyone looked at the fourteen year old.

An unidentifiable shove from behind drew him from his reverie, pushing him into the stream of foot traffic of London. The bustling crowds were as a maze to Harry, trying to squeeze through gaps to find his way to a vantage point. He had no idea where he was or where he really wanted to go. He couldn't return to Hogwarts, and Privet Drive was better left unsaid. Before he could process further the conundrum, Harry was picked up by a swarm of people moving towards an open door. Struggling against the crush of bodies, unable to resist as he was forced up a step and indoors. Onto a bus.

The doors closed behind him as he spun on his heel to disembark. "But I!" he muttered more to himself.

"Sorry kiddo, can't stop now. People be waiting. You can have a free ride on me. Bloody businessmen, think they can push everyone around. Just get off at a stop you recognise."

Harry half smiled at the driver, grimacing to himself. Years of living at the Dursley's had left him without any knowledge of the London bus network, and he doubted he would recognise any area well enough to happily disembark.

As the bus meandered through the city, cutting a path through traffic that otherwise seemed impossible to navigate, Harry watched the streets for any sign of somewhere he could find information.

"Lot of owls around today. Strange. Is a rare day indeed when owls come out." An old couple noted behind Harry. He looked up, as the bus slowed to a halt, noting the owls flying about, the slow beats of their wings distracting him for a moment.

"Oi, kid. You might want to get off. Cops are coming. And put your hood up, its a mad place out here today." The bus driver said loud enough for Harry to hear. Twisting in his seat, Harry frowned. Two ticket inspectors were at the rear entrance, asking for tickets. Harry swore, standing up, nodding to the bus driver and departing as nonchalantly as he could. As the bus pulled away, Harry looked at his destination, a sense of irony overcoming him at the small sign above his head, swaying in the breeze.

On the whole, the business was unobtrusive. Few people paid it any attention, and those that did glance at it moved their gaze away quickly, as if it was not to be seen.

"The Leaky Cauldron," Harry muttered bitterly to fate, his footsteps taking him through the doorway, despite his reluctance. It was not really the place he wanted to be, but at least he knew the area behind the small pub.

His hooded jumper pulled well around his face, Harry Potter made his way inconspicuously to the rear door that would lead to Diagon and Knockturn Alleys. The patrons were quiet, each holding a mug or glass silently, looking down reflectively. The curious side of him wondered at it, yet he continued on, reaching out to grab at the rusty door handle, its warped and dented metal showing the years of abuse.

"To Harry Potter," A voice said behind him. He froze, any attention unwelcome with his current predicament.

"To Harry Potter." A chorus of voices repeated, their tones saddened. Shuddering at the cold in the room, Harry pulled the door open gently, wincing at the rasp and creak. Closing the door quickly behind him, Harry sat on the dry stone, shaking at the scene he had just witnessed. Piecing together the scene, his mind reached the shocking conclusion.

"They all think I'm dead," he whispered to himself, palms clammy and heart racing. Somehow, his accident had been construed as fatal. And perhaps it was considered that. For the Boy-who-lived to lose his magic, it was a scenario none of the wizarding world would want, let alone accept. The backlash against Dumbledore, Fudge and the Ministry would be incorrigible.

And what could he do without a wand? Show himself to the public? They'd say he was polyjuiced, or transfigured to look like Harry Potter. And if anyone asked him to show them his patronus, or any spell with his characteristics, they'd laugh at him and his inability to produce so much as a spark. On that note, he had no idea how he would gain access to Diagon Alley without a wand.

As if on cue, a Wizard came in. Billowing grey robes swept by Harry who continued to shudder in his muggle outfit, acting as inattentive as he could. The tall man barely glanced at the teen, before dismissing the thin boy; his wand tapping the well known pattern against the brick wall. Without a backwards glance he stepped through, leaving Harry alone.

Waiting barely a second, Harry stood up, his facade complete. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, the Boy who lived stepped back into the Wizarding world, keeping his eyes down, away from the sight that had inspired awe in his first visit.

Despite his downcast eyes, Harry couldn't help but notice the shouts of excitement emanating from little children, fawning over the Firebolt on display at Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Did you see Krum fly his Firebolt against the Irish!?" One girl was exclaiming excited. Her next words were drowned out by a voice Harry had no intention of greeting.

"Really. Such children should be taught their place, by their Father's side. I am pleased Draco would not be so foolish." Black robes swept towards Harry as Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy walked up the alleyway, black cane clicking in time with their feet. Without another glance, Harry ducked into the Quidditch store to avoid the Malfoy parents.

His eyes adjusting to the room, Harry sighed at the numerous displays. Nimbus 2000s, 2001s, Firebolts and the newest Cleansweeps lined the wall and floors, their handles gleaming. Walking over to a Firebolt stand titled "Fly like Krum", Harry tentatively put his hand over the display broom. His confidence building at the warm feeling in his fingers, the youngest seeker in a century called "up!" The broom didn't even quiver, the polished ebony handle remaining still.

Sadness welling in Harry, he left the store in a hurry, the shortest glance confirming the departure of the Malfoys or any recognisable adults. The small girl pointed at Harry as he walked from the shop. "Look! It's Harry Potter!"

One of the other boys snarled at her. "No its not. Harry Potter died trying to enter the Triwizard Tournament. And anyway, why would Harry Potter be wearing muggle clothes?"

Anger built inside of Harry, a lion ready to pounce. He paused in his stride, wanting to turn back and reveal himself to them. To tell them that muggles were humans, people just like them. But the sorrow of his own lost magic held him back, so he continued on towards Gringotts, the bank of Goblins. He just hoped he could access his vault still, without his key.

* * *

The guards leered at him as he passed in an effort of intimidation. Had they known they were leering at a fourteen year old who had slain a Basilisk, a Mountain Troll and held off hundreds of Dementors, they may have resisted. The thought made him smirk underneath his hood.

As he made his way to the nearest teller, Harry felt the eyes of the Goblins on his own.

"Mr. Harry Potter, wishes to make a withdrawal." Harry spoke clearly, the goblin pausing in his writing and looking piercingly at Harry. At the Goblin's look, Harry had the sudden realisation that an apparently dead wizard would not be welcome to access his vault.

"And does Mr. Harry potter have his key?"

"I don't have my key. This is an... unexpected.. visit."

The goblin frowned at Harry, a scary smile lighting the creature's face: "Identification?"'

Harry nearly swore, annoyed at his lack of foresight. Of course he'd need his key or wand to access his vault. What kind of wizard doesn't have his wand on him at all times?

"Would you deny the heir of Potter rightful access to vault?" Harry found himself saying. He started at the demanding words and powerful tone. It was utterly alien to him, and yet seemed perfectly natural, as if he had been saying it his entire life.

"Harry Potter was reported dead on November 1st 1994. The vaults have been sealed until an heir is found." The goblin sneered. "If you were Mr. Potter or his beneficiary, you would know of this. Gringott's does not deal lightly with imposters, and neither does it bow to wizard-kind."

Goblin guards appeared at Harry's shoulder, sharp blades pricking his back. "Not a word, or we slip a blade between your ribs, Mr. Potter" The last phrase was uttered with scorn and sarcasm as they led Harry away from the chamber to a small, dark room to the side.

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**A/N:** **Cheers for reading. Love to hear from you**


	5. Gringotts

**A/N: **I'm back. And the story continues. Thanks for everyone who's reviewed/messaged :) Love your feedback!

* * *

Goblin guards appeared at Harry's shoulder, sharp blades pricking his back. "Not a word, or we slip a blade between your ribs, Mr. Potter" The last phrase was uttered with scorn and sarcasm as they led Harry away from the chamber to a small, dark room to the side.

Harry sighed, allowing himself to be pushed through the doorway. He cocked his head at the standard looking bank cart waiting precariously on the rails, but said nothing as he was 'encouraged' to enter the vehicle. The metal frame of a seat dug into Harry's back, no matter which way he turned to ease the discomfort. "Customer service," he muttered bitterly along with some choice words his Uncle often uttered.

A goblin entered the carriage behind Harry, a silver dagger glistening dangerously in the dull light. The being sneered at Harry as it hooked its lantern onto the cart. "You know where to go," whispered the banker quietly, and the trolley shot off at an alarming rate, shoving Harry into the seat, and any thoughts of escape out of his mind.

The cart dove further into the catacombs of the bank, Harry clinging for dear life to the speeding projectile. Dull roars, and unsettling sounds echoed across the vibrating tracks, speed removing the identity of the noise. Before he could ponder a brief flash of flame, the trolley was immersed in a torrent of water, soaking Harry to the skin. To his relief, the cart began to slow. The young Gryffindor's calm was short-lived: his heart lurched at the approaching platform lined; with guards, waiting expectantly.

Harry's goblin driver snarled at the sight of the guards, ripping the lantern from its perch and dismounting with a short step. "Mr. Potter," he drawled, "We have just one more detail that needs correcting before we can continue to your vault."

"I assume saying no wouldn't help here would it?" Harry replied rhetorically to give his racing heart a moment to slow. As a modicom of calm spread throughout, he pried himself from the seat of the cart, shoes belching water as he squelched towards the guards. The warriors parted as a door shimmered into existence, creaking open ominously.

"Enter," the guards voiced as one. Harry shrugged in resignation. Hermione may have been able to tell him what was going on. The thought of his best friend made him cringe with a pang of sadness. Hermione was not here, and would likely be mourning at his alleged death. A voice at the back of his mind whispered curiously _She saw me alive after the incident. She knows I'm not dead? _A less than subtle prod from one of the guard's spears sent Harry stumbling forward, pushing stray thoughts aside. Black trainers continued to squelch beneath him, the sound echoing in the antechamber. Green eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter at the adverse circumstance; stone-faced guards and the comedic shoes. _At least I can laugh about something _the voice whispered sardonically.

* * *

The steel-lined door slammed shut behind Harry, plunging the small room into utter darkness. A hand pushed him forward, stumbling. Another arm stopped his descent into darkness, leading him into a low-backed chair. He shuffled his jeans uncomfortably, the infinite shadow rendering any eyesight difficulties redundant. His ears twitched at a low scrape, head snapping round despite his continued blindness. A small flash sparked, apparently lighting a small lamp as a harsh glow filled the room. The flickering warmth reflected across a stone basin; a dark, still liquid mirroring the light.

From the lingering shadows stepped one of the foulest goblins Harry had laid eyes upon. Although he was no taller than average, a heavily hunched back belied the fiend's natural height. Deep and angry scars marred the creature's face; white marks against a dark face. An equally dark dagger glinted dangerously, matching the gremlin's eyes.

"Now Mr. Potter," the creature drawled, whipping the ornate weapon around it's fingers, "The goblin nation requrie your blood." Harry found himself staring at the whirling blade, its patterns a relief from the disfigured sight of its wielder. The mesmerising flicker of the lantern against the blade cast curious patterns on the wall.

Unbeknownst to him, the goblin sneered, rolling it's eyes at another victim of his skills. The familiar floating sensation returned to the boy who lived, who smiled at the pretty dagger. A voice at the back of his head roared with confidence at the challenge. "NO!" Harry commanded, placing his hands on the sides of the basin and pushing himself up, till his face was a whisker away from being sliced by the intricated patterns.

Smiling with sharp, pointed teeth, the goblin continued his ministrations around Harry's still head. "Impressive." he nodded, as the dark blade slashed down carving a groove in the air around it, slamming into the basin with a sharp crack.

Harry started as the dagger whipped past his head one final time, rocking back into his chair as adrenaline flushed his system. He glared at the goblin. "You can't control me," he whispered dangerously. "If you wish for my blood, and nothing else, you may take but three drops. The goblin nation would do well to remember those who it owes the greatest of debts." Again, words infused with power and intent flowed from Harry's mouth, bidden by other means.

The disfigured goblin nodded gently, it's voice softening. "Mr. Potter, this is merely a verification of your identity. The... show, is to 'encourage' confessions of guilt. I apologise for any offense taken. I shall minimise any blood taken from you."

Harry nodded, his mind struggling with the backlog of unexplainable events that demanded understanding. He sat once more, pulling his right sleeve up, holding his bicep where his primary schoo nurse had injected him with a vaccine once. The creature hobbled forward, and pulled Harry's sleeve back down, shaking its head. "Only three drops." Harry nodded, as the goblin grasped his finger, pricking it gently, a rivulet of blood trickling onto the sinister weapon.

Turning his back, Harry's interrogator flicked the blade thrice, three specks of blood falling into the liquid, which began swirling with colour before brightly settling to a golden glow, tinged with webs of emerald. Harry watched the hunched back straighten slightly, as if the goblin were leaning back. "What's going on?" Harry asked, surprising himself with the gentleness of his tone.

The being turned once more to him, "Just one more Mr. Potter." Harry raised an eyebrow at the respect in the man's voice. Apparently the golden glow was good news for Harry. Lost in his reverie, Harry didn't notice the black quill his interrogator slipped into his hand. It felt normal enough, so Harry looked a question at the man, who was shuffling on the spot.

"Mr. Potter, you hold in your hand a very special quill. It is illegal for any being other than a goblin to utilise such quills; the reason for which will become apparent."

A cold chill crept over Harry as he glanced once more at the quill. Something felt off, unnatural; as if holding such a quill would harm him. "The quill writes in the author's blood." Harry looked up sharply at the man, his brows coming together in shock and anger. The goblin shuffled once more, making placating gestures with his hands again.

"I am sorry Mr. Potter. It is a rare occasion that requires the goblin nation to use such devices, but it is necessary to ensure your identity."

Harry looked hard at the man, past the scars and blackened face, and into his eyes. Eyes that hated their owner for his actions. Pleading eyes that begged forgiveness for a trapped soul. Despite his reservations, Harry nodded slowly. "What shall I write?"

A low sigh permeated the silence following Harry's question. "You will write, I must not tell lies."

"That's it?" Harry replied. The goblin nodded.

"Just once. And should our assumptions be incorrect, you have my apology. It is not often that an innocent be persecuted in our halls."

Harry nodded in thought, bringing the quill down onto a single piece of parchment that had materialised along with a low table. A small prick on the back of his hand caused him to lift the quill, looking for the source of the pain. After a moment of confusion, he returned to the task, his mind beginning to understand how the quill would take his blood for use.

Gently scratching an I onto the paper, Harry grimaced at the red line that gouged into the back of his hand, growling at the pain.

Gritting his teeth savagely, Harry scrawled the note deliberately, each stroke a proud rendition of his primary teacher's instructions. As the final drop of blood seared the parchment, Harry threw the quill down in disgust, gripping his wrist, not daring disturb the angry marks as they faded slowly.

"Well?" He asked the goblin with a growl. The disformed figure took the parchment, on which the text glowed with a gentle golden light, refusing to respond. Harry repeated his question to the retreating back.

A whisper answered his call. "They were so wrong about you. They can never know how they failed us all." An unseen door closed behind the hunched figure, leaving Harry in solitude with his shadows.

* * *

Time passed slowly in the stone room Harry was trapped in. He transitioned between calm and rage at intervals, his heart tearing at the aching loneliness.

Anger boiled within him, a red haze dying even the black stone an ugly shade of maroon. He kicked and screamed at the few objects in the sparse place. Only as the light from the shattered lamp flickered out did his frustration abate. He sat against the cool stone, rubbing feeling into his hand, and wishing he could rub his heart better.

Eventually another Goblin appeared, looking furious and flustered as he forcibly dragged Harry from the dark room, muttering at speed.

"You have our sincerest apologies Mr. Potter. We hope not to have been too much of an inconvenience."

At Harry's grimace and flexing hand, the goblin muttered once more. "I can assure you young sir, it shall not happen again. It appears the goblin nation has been misled as to your status. You are indeed, Harry James Potter, sole heir of the Potter accounts, and..." The goblin looked him up and down "... very much alive."

The goblin pulled Harry to a stop inside a small private room Harry hadn't seen before, gently decorated in rich materials. The short creature dropped Harry's hand, leading the Boy Who Lived to a chair in front of a desk, which the goblin climbed behind. Steepling his fingers, the goblin stared at Harry, unblinking, assessing. Harry raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, well sick of the games of the goblins.

Finally, just as a crick formed in Harry's neck, the goblin spoke, it's quiet voice a jarring contrast to its manner moments ago. "The question I have for you, Mr. Potter, amongst many, is do you wish to reveal your survival to the world?"

Harry shook his head slowly and emphatically. "No."

The goblin nodded sagely, a wicked grin spreading across it's face. "Very Slytherin of you Mr. Potter."

Harry smiled sadly, shaking his head at the goblin. "You mistake me sir. I'm done with wizards." And he meant it. Although the muggle world had not been kind to him, and the wizarding world had been truly magical, they had had cowed him, beaten him within an inch of his life, and never asked him of his opinion. _Except Snape_. the disembodied voice whispered ironically at the back of his mind.

The goblin looked down at Harry, his face a mask, his opinion on Harry's decision hidden behind layers of professionalism. Harry looked into the creature's eyes, staring down the banker, inviting him to question Harry's motives and intentions for the wizarding world. He had nothing to hide; the wizarding world considered Harry dead, they no longer had a need for Harry Potter.

"Can I get to my money now?" Harry asked, after a suitable length of time had passed, his soul being searched by the goblin. The only response he received was a nod and breaking of eye contact.

* * *

"What do you wish to withdraw today Mr. Potter?" the teller muttered quietly, despite the privacy of the side room Harry had been lead to.

The boy who lived pondered for a moment, tapping his fingers against the counter absentmindedly. "Enough money for a room, general expenses for a few months." The goblin nodded, muttering about secrecy statutes, and began counting out gold coins. Harry stopped him immediately.

"Pounds, not Gallons."

The goblin looked at the coins in he had been scooping into the leather bag, a curious expression on his face as he emptied the bag, and began filling it with notes.

"Anything else Mr, sir?" The goblin stuttered over Harry's name, clearly avoiding the title. Harry nodded gratefully.

"Lock the vaults. Seal them. Revoke any and all keys. The potter vault is not to be withdrawn from except for Gringott's fees and myself." The teller nodded again, slowly comprehending the enormity of the request. He would spend a number of hours filling in the paperwork. Taking the leather bag from the counter, Harry smiled sadly at the goblin who would be the first and last goblin to serve Harry Potter.

"Thank you Griphook."

And he left, pulling his jacket hood over his hood.

* * *

**A/N:** And so begins the journey. Which journey? You will see. As will I, because unfortunately it is planned, but unwritten as yet. Apologies for the slow updating.

And for Heart of Darkness fans, yes, I'm coming back. I promise. I'm not finished with you yet


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